


i can put on a show

by SpineAndSpite



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Spoilers, or are they
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 08:26:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11332071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpineAndSpite/pseuds/SpineAndSpite
Summary: “Were you this hard when you killed me?” the vicious mouth asks.





	i can put on a show

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime between 11/20 and whenever Akechi realizes he done fucked up. 
> 
> Spoilers up to and including the traitor boss fight in December.
> 
> Inspired by [this](http://marudyne.tumblr.com/post/162177175079/ocupados-the-plant-that-i-got-very-lazy-at-drawing) art by the lovely and talented marudyne--who shares my protag thirst--specifically the last pic.

In the dream he waits for you. Sometimes with a smile, sometimes with a knife. Sometimes with both, equally sharpened to a mirror shine. 

The sky is perfectly blue; the wind caresses your cheek. The door is open and he sits on the counter, wreathed in shadows. A king in his court. 

Leblanc calms you instinctually--the curry spices and ground coffee, the soft background drone of the news. Even knowing you have to don your soft, simpering mask whenever you patronize it, this is still a place of peace. An oasis. 

This is not that Leblanc. Dark shapes seethe at its edges and it is far too large. A cavernous, agoraphobic space. There is fire, although you aren’t sure of its source. You just hear the clicking rustle and see the light paint deep bronze under his eyes. 

He is dressed all in black but here he wears no mask, hair wild and tossed by a wind that you can’t feel. He grins that demon’s grin and you go to him. His fingers brush your face and desire flares up in you, so bright and intense it’s like a foreign presence. A possession. He invades you like bacteria, or a song you’ll never get out of your head. 

When they told you about him you thought he’d be no trouble at all. Just another target to set up and knock over. Then you saw him, and the water began to swirl around your feet, rising until you were rully submerged. The rest of them are just children playing games, but he is a storm with a thousand monsters buried under his skin. You want him to kiss you, fuck you, punish you. Not because you think you deserve it, but because you want to see his euphoria when he eats you alive. 

You should be afraid, but you aren’t. Or you are, but it doesn’t matter. The dream is in a place beyond fear. 

He touches your again face and you shudder. His fingers are hot, even through his gloves. You follow his touch, straining up onto your toes to search for his mouth. You want to catch it before it begins to speak. You don’t know what it will say. 

Instead he grabs your arms, wraps his legs around your waist, and pulls you in. You gasp and you struggle, but not because you want to get away. 

“Were you this hard when you killed me?” the vicious mouth asks, an inch from your own. 

Your fingers close on fistfulls of his shirt. It’s insubstantial; you’re sinking into him. This boy is the power of the metaverse brought to terrible life--the only foe who has ever given you any real struggle--and you want him so badly you ache. 

You strain again for his mouth, but he threads his fingers through the soft hair at the base of your neck, forcing your head back and putting his teeth to your throat. 

In the bright, visceral knowledge of dreams, you’re aware that he could tear your insides out and leave your blood to pour across the counter to mingle with this morning’s coffee. The image blooms in front of you like you’re watching it happen. He drinks from a delicate china cup--like you’ve seen him do countless time before--but when he lowers it the rim is wet with your blood, red smeared across his mouth like lipstick.

“Yes,” you hiss. You’ve never felt more alive than when his eyes widened in pure shock and you pulled the trigger. When he realized the truth--that he had been betrayed by a pretty face and gentle voice and a thousand simple cliches. 

You have never been more afraid of him that you are now--the boy with a hundred faces, a thousand names. With spirits that leap to his service as soon as he calls, each born from the violence inside his soul. You have two and you can feel yourself dragged to the thrashing edges of your sanity every time you call them. _Every time_. How does he stand against so many of them without becoming a monster himself? 

Maybe that’s the answer. Maybe he’s been one all along, and whether one is good or evil, murderer or messiah, has nothing to do with it. Maybe he aligned himself where he landed, grew where he was planted, just like you did. Maybe his justice is no different than your own. 

That is, not justice after all. 

“So you’re saying we belong together?” he murmurs, gently mocking. 

“Shut up.” 

He plants another sharp bite under your ear. It coils molten hot in your guts. “This is your dream. I’m only saying it because you think it.” He reels you in. “You should stay here with me, Goro,” His voice wraps sinuously around your given name. 

“What, die with you?” You are close enough to share breath. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“It would be romantic, right?” He brushes your hair back out of your eyes, tender and possessive.“--Flashy.” His mouth is wet on your neck. “--Perfect.” He licks. 

If you let him, he’ll consume you. That’s what he’s offering. Oblivion. 

You’re tempted. This is your dream, so you don’t bother to deny it. 

“It would never work out between us,” you tell him. Then you push him down on the counter, the two of you spread out in a messy sprawl. You wrap your hands around his throat. His eyes go wide as he starts to choke, body thrashing beneath you. Your heart pumps exultation. You’ve never had sex before, so you don’t know what it’s like. You don’t think it could be better than this. 

He’s making helpless sounds, hips bucking. You do what you hadn’t in life and show mercy. You let him go. You let him live. He takes a shuddering, greedy breath and you kiss him, finally. He holds so many fascinations for you, and this is just one of them. The yielding warmth of his mouth, the shivering lines of his ribs as you trace them with your fingertips. He’s making more desperate noises, like you’re still choking him. You pull back and realize he is laughing. Little bubbling hiccups of sound. His eyes are cold-burning stars. 

Rage flares up in you as your persona--your _true_ persona--shakes the bars of its cage. You want to pull him apart, render him down to nothing. How dare he laugh at you. 

Then the dream twists and you are the one with your back to the wall, Joker superimposed against the raw scarlet of the metaverse, mask a dramatic slash of white across his face. 

He holds you close in a mocking embrace, one arm around your waist and the other cupping the back of your neck. He whispers in your ear. 

“You can’t fool a fool.” 

You thrash into consciousness like a hooked fish. 

Night sweat soaks your sheets and your pillows are flung halfway across the room. You are so aroused you’re trembling. You touch yourself reflexively, mindlessly, and when you come it’s less pleasure and more mercy. The cage of your dreams opens and lets you out into the sickly glow of a night that pours light-pollution through your open window. 

You clean yourself up and make a cup of coffee, but the smell of it makes you queasy. You pour it down the drain, rinsing away the streaky brown stains until the sink is pristine again. 

_You can’t fool a fool_. 

That’s just dream nonsense. Of course you can fool a fool--that’s why they’re a fool. And you did fool him. You fooled all of them. That’s why he’s dead and you’re alive. You won. 

He’s gone. You wiped that smile away and you put a bullet between those mocking eyes. 

"They’re just dreams," is what you tell yourself as you watch the endless approach of the dawn. They don’t mean anything. 

\--  
" _thought that you were the boss tonight /_  
but i can put up one good fight/  
i'll flip the script like i can take a beating

 _and when you start to feel the rush /_  
the crimson headache /  
aching blush /  
and you surrender to the touch /  
you'll know /  
i can put on a show "

**Author's Note:**

> alternate title: "local detective continues to own himself" 
> 
> was this a dream or did it actually happen in the metaverse? your guess is as good as mine. 
> 
> on tumblr at spine-and-spite and twitter at spine_and_spite.


End file.
